the corpse-grinders of berlin - episode 27
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The continual re-carving of one’s identity.
A subtle apocalypse in the form of the eradication of subtlety.
He couldn’t help but see her eyes as wounds. Two eyes like gleaming razor blades. Somehow they cut into his existence so very deep. Not that they couldn’t be false, which they often were. At these moments it seemed that it wasn’t a simple mask though, but a conjuring up from something far more complicated, much deeper.
Her ability to destroy was equal to her ability to dance.
He arrived in Bratislava in the early evening. A strange city indeed, which was already dead quiet by eleven in the evening. He had never seen a capitol city like this. He walked down the empty street with only barking dogs in the distance.
All the buses had already stopped, so he had to take a taxi to where he was staying. He looked out the taxi window as he drifted through this bizarre city of emptiness. La Capitale du Vide.
The taxi pulled up to a modern apartment building. Actually he had no idea what he was getting himself into. He rang the doorbell. The door buzzed opened and he walked up the concrete staircase with his suitcase. A door was open on the top floor.
Inside was a small apartment. Nice old wooden furniture, an open veranda. Pierre introduced himself to the girl whose apartment it was, and whom he had never met before in his life. It was a special girl, with very dreamy eyes. After they talked a bit he excused himself, he was exhausted. It had been a long trip.
Here he was sleeping in the living room of the apartment of a stranger. A small balcony that overlooked the hills that this city was nestled in. He felt good here finally. She had few things, but the few things she had were well chosen. A beautiful mahogany writing desk which shined.
The sun blazed, which gave everything the aura of northern Italy. A bit like Trieste.
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